Ragnarok
by ladycordelia17
Summary: Bingo Challenge oneshot: "the end of the world." Through his dear friend who hails from Fum, David of Tipa acquires a design for a weapon that will change the course of the future.


_**Written for the "end of the world" prompt on my Bingo Challenge card in SasukeBlade's forum **_**The Myrrh Tree. _David acquires a design for an interesting weapon._**

_Disclaimer: I do not own _Final Fantasy: Crystal Chronicles_ or __any characters or locations within; they belong to Square Enix. Credit actually goes to SasukeBlade for Celia of Fum, and the only things that are mine are David, Lydia, and the plot for this little oneshot._

**Ragnarok**

Windy autumn heralded the end of the eleventh year that David of Tipa had been aboard the crystal caravan for the tiny peninsular village. It also heralded the day soon to follow that David would become the holder of a weapon that could change the course of the future.

"Mail-moogle at your service, kupo!" a moogle called out to the caravanners as, southward-bound and homeward-bound, they emerged from the miasma stream dividing the Tipa Peninsula from the mountainous region in which the crossroads-town of Marr's Pass lay. "Letter for David of Tipa, kupo!"

David took the envelope and offered a small bunch of rainbow grapes to the moogle as a token of thanks. The envelope felt fairly heavy; did it contain several short letters or one that was especially long? The seal, as well as the handwriting on the front, confirmed to him that it was from a fond acquaintance from Fum: Celia, the freckle-faced and copper-haired innkeeper's daughter.

"Celia again?" came the curious voice of David's younger sister, Lydia. "You haven't written anything to her for quite some time, Davy—if I were you, I'd be writing more often, or she might despair of ever hearing from you again!" she chastised good-naturedly.

His sister was right; it had been too long since the last time David had written anything to Celia. Perhaps he would rectify the situation as early as that evening, when the caravan set up camp for the night—if the wind died down by then. Unfortunately, it was hard to write when one had to keep the paper from flying away.

David could, however, read what Celia had written. He clambered inside the wagon, letter in hand, and found a snug little sitting space where the daylight would shine in when he rolled up the window-flap.

_My dear David,_

_I apologize if this letter is stained with tears and parts of it are rendered unreadable, but it is with great grief that I am writing. My dear Aunt Elmyra had been fighting the brain-fever for a week before at last, three days ago, she passed away from it. We buried her among the hazel trees just inside the bounds of the town's crystal, but I cannot so easily bury my grief for her, and for all my beloved cousins who mourn the loss of their mother._

_On a much happier note, however, I have enclosed with this letter something that I think you will find exceedingly useful. Early this summer, near the time of the cherry-harvest, the caravan from Shella stayed in the family inn for a week after having made a trip to the ancient ruins of Rebena Te Ra for myrrh. One of the caravanners left behind a scroll containing what appears to be a design for a rare and powerful sword. I eventually arranged for the scroll to be returned to the Shella caravan, but only after I copied its contents to the best of my ability. Enclosed is my copy of the design, and if you are able to make a sword like it describes, I hope that the sword serves you well. _

_I am, and remain most lovingly yours,_

_Celia_

The letter was dated ten days back; the winds must have made it somewhat more difficult than usual for mail-carrying moogles to travel. Intrigued by the promise of a design for a new weapon, however, David removed the several sheets of parchment that had been folded in with Celia's letter.

True to form, the design contained diagrams for what appeared to be a large dual-edged sword bearing several sinister-looking symbols on both blades (for the drawings indicated two blades) and the handle, with an opening between its two blades that was probably intended for a talisman or magicite stone. Surrounding the diagrams were such instructions as: _"And when the cursed crook of the Goblin King is folded among orichalcum and joined with the Ancient Sword, it shall become Ragnarok, and he that wields this shadowed blade might descend into the deepest dark and emerge in triumph over his many mighty foes."_

As David stared into the symbols that surrounded the sword diagrams, flashes of—something, he couldn't tell what—entered his mind unbidden. A dark mountain, where even on a clear night the stars remained veiled. A miasma stream, much more turbulent than any through which the caravan had ever passed. A bulbous tentacled creature, mightier than the strongest malboro, from which the miasma itself seemed to emanate…

But these images, though David knew not what they were or what they meant, did not frighten him. When the time came, he would face even these menaces. He would wield this "Ragnarok" if that was what it took to defend all that he held dear.

Of that he was certain.


End file.
